


Gravel Rash

by lucifers_first



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2689400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_first/pseuds/lucifers_first
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean makes one of his regular visits to the Roadhouse...and Jo has an unfortunate accident...Dean plays doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravel Rash

"…gonna start the fire! Come on!

Rise up, gather round. Rock this place to the ground!

Burning up, off the road, watch the night go up in smoke!

Rock on! Rock on! Driving crazier!

No serenade! No fire brigade! Just the pyromania!

Come on! What do you want? What do you want?

I want rock and roll! Yes I do…"

Dean, who was belting out the lyrics and drumming on the steering wheel, was two minutes out from the Roadhouse and had timed it perfectly to finish Def Leppard's Rock of Ages, just upon arrival. He had the volume up fully, enjoying the freedom he had when Sam wasn't riding shotgun.

When he pulled up at the Roadhouse, he saw Jo on the roof doing something with a hammer and a glue-gun. That girl! Never acted like a woman.

He slammed the door of the Impala and called up to her.

"Hey, Harvelle Junior."

She started and looked around, wobbling precariously, but waved down to Dean.

"Howdy, Winchester!"

"I'm, gonna go see your mum and Ash. See ya in a bit."

"Ellens' out doing a beer run, Ash is on the pool table though...or he was when I left!" Jo called and dean gave a wave of thanks for the heads up and entered the Roadhouse. He had only just spotted Ash, snoozing on the pool table, when he hear the skittering of roof-tiles, a scream of shock and then a sicken thunk. Dean ran outside and to his shock found Jo lying on the gravel, he head cut by a larger rock and her knees and palms bloody messes. He ran to her and she moaned, before rolling over weakly.

"Jo! Jo!? Are you ok?! Can you hear me?" Dean shouted, holding her head to stop the bleeding.

"Shurrup, 'inhester!" Jo mumbled and Dean grinned with relief. He pulled her to her feet and then hoisted her into his arms.

"I'm gonna take you up to your room, ok, Jo?"

She made a noise that might have been agreement and Dean set off, up the back stairs of the Roadhouse that lead to the private apartments Jo and Ellen shared together. Dean, Sam and Cas had been spending a lot of time there lately and so Dean knew his way around.

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Jo was fully conscious, if a little dizzy and struggling to get out of Dean's strong arms.

"Can you stand?" Dean asked.

"I think so." Jo nodded and then, "Thanks," she said, as Dean set her on her feet at the top of the stairs. She swayed a little, holding her head to stop the bleeding.

"I'm not leaving you yet," Dean replied. "You need to get those cuts cleaned up, no one else is home and it's going to be pretty hard to do it by yourself. Especially with that head." Before Jo could protest, he threw his jacket on the couch and he strode past her. "C'mon. Bathroom."

Jo nodded mutely and trailed slowly behind, feeling gradually more and more light-headed. He was right, damn it. For some perverse reason, she didn't want him to be right, because she hated Dean to be right. For another perverse reason, she wanted him to be absolutely right and stay all afternoon, taking care of her. She heard the water running in the bathtub. She approached the bathroom door.

"Uh-uh, Sleaze-bag," she said, shaking her head and smirking, as Dean beckoned her forward. "You're not putting me in the tub."

"Nice thought," Dean grinned up at her devilishly, "but you're going to sit on the edge and I'm going to clean off your knees, then your hands, then you head. Now be a good girl and come here. Sit. I need to get your boots off." He dropped the lid to the toilet seat.

„Don't tell me what to do, Winchester." Jo said stoutly, even in her gratitude and slightly dizzy state, she refused to follow Dean's orders. "And don't patronise me." She added.

"Please, sit, Madame Harvelle." He said gesturing at the toilet. Jo rolled her eyes, but she perched stiffly on the closed toilet seat while Dean removed her shoes and socks. He tossed them carelessly into the hallway.

Dean rolled up his sleeves and checked the water temperature in the tub. Jo watched through half-closed eyes. She hated to admit; even to herself and probably wouldn't have if it hadn't been for her head injury: Dean was intriguing. He was a mix of hard and soft. She didn't know which portion of the mixture intrigued her the most, but before she had time to make up her mind, she was lifted bodily from the toilet to the edge of the tub. Her legs dangled into the warm water.

"All right, this part's gonna hurt. I think you've ground some gravel into your knees. I'll go slow."

"Don't bother," Jo said aloofly, even now determined to prove how tough she was. "I can take it. I've had worse."

Dean smirked and knelt beside her. With one strong arm wrapped around her for support, he dipped the other into the water and began to gently wash her knees, first with plain water and then with soap. After the initial shock of warm water on open skin, she closed her eyes and marvelled at the gentleness of his touch. She felt him pick out several tiny pieces of granite, but he was so careful she barely felt the sting.

"Hands."

Jo extended her hands and Dean provided them with the same gentle treatment. Then he pulled her blonde fringe carefully back from her forehead and cleaned the wound in her head.

"Where do you keep your clean towels?"

Jo pointed to a cabinet. She felt herself growing sleepy, her head was pounding again, but this time it was just the pounding…no pain.

"You're not gonna pass out on me, are you?" she heard Dean ask, concern in his voice.

Jo shook her head. "I…I don't think so," she said. "The hit…it wasn't that…hard."

"Well, try and stay awake, Jo. You can't pass out." Dean replied, not taking her word for it...knowing that Jo would never complain about pain or injury with him around.

Dean dried her head, legs and hands gently with a clean towel. She watched him rummage through the medicine cabinet and pull out a tube of antibiotic ointment and a large white band-aid. He smoothed the plaster onto her head and helped her to stand.

"I'm going to get these clothes off you," he said, for once no joke in his in his voice, just concern, "and spread some of this ointment on your knees and your palms and then you're going to get into bed with an ice pack. You have anything easy you can put on?"

Jo heard herself answer him, "yes." Why was she so passive? Why was she letting this man…of all me…take charge? What was wrong with her?

Dean helped her walk into her bedroom and she pointed at herBatman boxers and old, ratty AC/DC tee shirt she'd dropped on the bed earlier in the day. Jo automatically lifted her arms as her sweat soaked shirt was removed. She felt a chill as the air hit her bare breasts and she realized he must have pulled off her sports bra too. Dean muttered something under his breath, but Jo couldn't make it out. She felt him unzip her mini-shorts and plain white underwear. She really should protest, she told herself, she really should, but she'd grown so drowsy that it didn't seem to matter all that much what he did and…well…it was Dean…and try as she might to deny it – she had a thing for him…and he for her. Suddenly Jo found herself on her back in bed, wearing the old tee shirt and boxers she'd shown him. Dean sat beside her. He delicately spread the soothing ointment on her knees and hands. He tucked her in, taking care to lift the blanket over her knees, and piled two pillows behind her head, and then he disappeared. Jo heard banging sounds coming from her kitchen. Dean returned shortly with a dishtowel and a plastic bag filled with crushed ice. He wrapped the ice in the towel, kicked off his work boots and climbed into bed beside her. He leaned her against him and pressed the ice bag to her forehead.

"Winchester," Jo whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Can you take my ponytail out? It hurts."

"Sure."

The ice bag was set aside for a moment and she felt him tug the elastic out of her hair. He combed her curls with his fingertips for a few moments before he pulled her against him and once more pressed the ice to her head.

"Jo?" His deep voice rumbled against her.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to go to the hospital?"

"Nope."

"Do you know where Lamia are usually found?"

"Greece."

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Sunday."

"What did you do yesterday?"

"I…I shot Castiel in the face cause he scared me in the shower."

Dean chuckled, remembering, Jo running from the shower, towel clutched to her front, gun in her hand…closely followed by Castiel, who had blood running down his face, apologising.

Jo was silent for a moment and then she spoke his name, her voice husky with fatigue. "Dean?" Dean raised his eyebrow…it was rare for her to call him by his first name.

"What's up?"

"Why did you stop by today?"

"Pit stop. I've always thought the Roadhouse had nice bathrooms." Dean said, but he was a terrible liar.

Jo laughed tiredly. "Do you still need to go?"

"Eventually." Said Dean, unconvincingly, "Why were you on the roof?"

"Fixing…tiles." She faltered, yawning.

"Oh. Well, it was a nice day for that." Dean said sarcastically, shaking his head.

"Yeah," she said quietly, "Was a nice day for that."

Dean lay beside Jo feeling the regular rise and fall of her chest against his. Her breathing was soft and even. He was a little concerned about the possibility of a concussion, especially since she'd fallen asleep so quickly. He reminded himself that the forehead was the thickest part of the skull, so she was probably all right, just shaken up.

This was the first time in Dean's entire adult life that he'd removed a woman's clothes without making love to her, especially a woman he wanted so urgently. If Jo hadn't been unaware, he couldn't have faced her, not with the obvious bulge in the front of his jeans, but she'd been pretty out of it and she didn't utter a single word of protest when he'd pulled her clothes off. The sight of her round, high breasts, tipped with taut, pink nipples, had nearly done him in. Jesus, it was pure torture not to touch her any more than necessary. It took every ounce of self-control he could muster not to rub his swollen cock against her, he felt wrong even thinking such thoughts lying next to Jo. When he'd pulled up her boxers, he'd inadvertently brushed his fingers against the soft, pale hair of her pussy. Christ, he'd thought he might explode. Between the sight of her, the touch of her silky skin, and the scent of her—blood, sweat, musk—Dean didn't know how he would get through the night, yet there was no way in hell he'd leave her alone. If necessary, he'd spend tomorrow with her too. She was his little hunter. He wanted to make sure she'd be okay.

Dean really did need to take a pee now, but he decided to wait until Jo fell into a deeper sleep, and he didn't want to remove the ice bag from her forehead just yet. He wondered if it was even going to be possible with his hard-on. He nearly laughed when he thought about those commercials that said, if you experience an erection lasting more than four hours, see your doctor. Crap. He'd been uncomfortably erect every time he saw her ever since she had punched him in the face the first time they. Dean freed a hand and unzipped his jeans. He sighed with relief. Jo stirred momentarily. She murmured in her sleep and wrapped an arm around his waist, nestling deeper into his shoulder. Her hand was mere inches from the head of his swollen cock. Dean shifted a little to give her more room. If this woman was going to touch him, by God, Dean wanted her to know who she was touching and what. Besides, his self-control was hanging by a thread and he didn't want to risk an accident. She might accidentally push him over the edge. Jo was vulnerable, but even Dean was no heel who took advantage of an injured woman, no matter how much he wanted her. No. If he was going to make love to her, when he made love to her, he wanted Jo awake, alert and wanting him just as much. Dean tightened his arm around Jo's shoulders, protecting her against the growing darkness.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000

The next morning, the sky over the Roadhouse was dark with swollen storm clouds. Jo was woken by the deep rumbling thunder that shook the house around her, she rubbed her head, but it felt better than she had expected and slowly the memories of last night returned to her and she blushed, hiding her face in her pillow in embarrassment, even though she was alone in the bedroom.

She had let Dean Winchester…that cocky son-of-a-bitch…undress her.

She shook off the shame and sat up, feeling the head-rush and seeing stars for a few seconds, before swinging her legs off the edge of the bed and standing up. She swayed slightly her hands and knees still stinging.

Jo walked slowly to the kitchen and put the coffee on. It was 10:30 and she could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Oh, fuck! Dean was still there.

Jo sighed, resigned to facing him, she took her coffee to the sofa, threw a new log on the smouldering embers of last night's fire and sat down, listening to the storm outside.

Thunder cracked so loud outside she hadn't heard Dean come out of the bathroom. Barefoot and shirtless, he wore only jeans, and he'd left them unbuttoned.

Despite her best efforts, Jo's pulse kicked up a notch and she damned her libido for wanting him even though she was angry and embarrassed.

She sighed.

He sauntered into the kitchen, but stopped short when he saw the hot coffee on the stove. He turned and in surprisegave her the famous 'Dean Winchester once over'.

"You're up early, for a severe head trauma victim!" he said, grinning, then he started with embarrassment and turned with his back to her and buttoned up his jeans. Jo laughed jovially. To be honest she was a little disappointed, but she got a nice view of his butt from this angle, so it wasn't all bad.

When Dean finished making himself 'decent', he poured a cup of coffee, then came and took a seat on the cushioned chair across from the sofa. The light from the fire danced against the much scarred, skin of his chest, making him look like a golden god of war, all this contrasting with his light brown hair and slight stubble, along with his always tortured shining green eyes that seemed to be able to read her mind.

His hair was still damp, but it was, as always, perfectly spiked. Jo wanted to touch it, to slide her fingers through it and muss it all up; to tuck her face between his neck and shoulder and curl herself up against him.No! What are you thinking Joanna Beth Harvelle? She heard her mother's voice echoing in her head.

"Well, Winchester," Jo said suddenly, taking her mind off his body. "I am working a case with Garth today, but it's just a one day thing…more checking up on a previous case, but I should be back around 5pm. If you wanna stay a little longer, you can finish the roof I failed to fix and you won't have to pay for a room."

Dean nodded in agreement and Jo got up abruptly, leaving the room to get ready. Unknown to Jo, Dean watched her butt the whole way out of the room…and then again when she left the house in here tight black, 'FBI' dress.

Dean fixed the roof in less than three hours, had a gin with Ellen, who was busy, as always downstairs in the Roadhouse Bar. Then, later in the afternoon, Bobby stopped by and Dean had to take another shower, put on the 'monkey suit' to go and investigate some case…that turned out to be legitimately 'FBI' and not 'their-kinda-thing'.

When he arrived back at the Roadhouse, he saw Garth's truck pulling out and saw the small driver in the cab wave enthusiastically as it passed the Impala. Dean waved back, shaking his head and grinning.

Quickly, he parked the Impala and hurried in through the bar and motioned hastily to Ellen that he was going into the private wing, she just nodded and smiled.

Dean wanted to see if Jo was okay, so he raced up the stairs, two at a time and burst through the door just as Jo; still dressed in the tight black dress and black stilettos; threw her purse on the couch and pulled the band out of her hair. She turned quickly, her freshly released hair, fanning out in a wave as she spun. Dean watched it, as if in slow motion and suddenly it hit Dean, why he had really stopped here the day before. Why he had rushed in to see Jo today. Even, why Ellen had smiled that knowing smile.

He wanted Jo more than anything in the world and he had been too pig-headed to admit it to himself that it wasn't just another fancy or crush.

Jo stood there staring at Dean, with a look of deep longing. She was sick of not allowing herself to love Dean. Sick of pretending she didn't want him. Sick of being the 'only' girl who didn't fall for Dean Winchester.

Suddenly, as at the same time, they made their decisions' and Jo began to walk quickly towards Dean and Dean covered the distance between them in three steps. Then they stopped, as abruptly as they had started…almost no light between them. Jo lifted a gentle hand and placed it on Dean's arm.

For one long moment, Dean only studied her face, starting with her eyes, then dropping his gaze to her mouth, then bringing his attention back to her eyes again. And then he was touching her, too, first cupping her jaw gently in his hand, then threading his fingers lightly through the hair at her temples. Then his other hand joined the first, dipping below her hair to curve possessively around her nape, the gentlest, most exquisite caress Jo had ever felt in her life. And then his mouth was on hers, coaxing and gentle, but with a promise of something more—something untamed, something unleashed, something she had never experienced before. Something she knew was a Winchester invention.

Jo, still hating herself somewhere deep down, melted into him instantly, curling the fingers of one hand into the fabric of his shirt, and threading the others through his hair. A soft sound of surrender—No! No surrender from Dean…it was a sound of demand—it escaped him as he intensified the kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist, splaying his hands over the small of her back. And the moment she heard that sound, the moment she felt his hands on her, the moment she understood the power of their bodies' responses to each other, she knew there would be no turning back. Not this time. Not ever again. She wanted Dean. Dean wanted her. There was nothing in this world that would keep them apart. Ever again. It sounded dramatic, but she meant it.

So Jo pressed her body more urgently into his, wove her fingers more resolutely into his hair and cupped the crown of his head in her palm. And then she crowded against him—or maybe he was the one who crowded against her—so that she could savor him more thoroughly, and at her leisure. Not that she was feeling especially leisurely at the moment.

Dean seemed to want to take control of the kiss then, and Jo willingly let him. Again and again he pushed his tongue into her mouth, thrusting, parrying, tasting, testing. Sweet. He was so sweet. But his sweetness was mixed with something else, too, she thought vaguely, something sharp and spicy that was both unfamiliar and irresistible. It was something that made her hungry for things she'd never realized she needed before, made her long for things she'd never known she wanted. So she kissed Dean more deeply still, knowing he was everything she would ever need or want again.

Her hunger seemed to mirror his own, because his kisses deepened, kindling a fire low in her belly that threatened to burn out of control. She wanted him so much she was oblivious to everything else, only knew that she needed him closer, needed his body joined with hers in the most basic, most intimate way it could be. The fingers she had twisted in his shirt scooted lower, snaking around his waist, opening wide over his broad back. In response, Dean looped his arm around her waist, too, then jerked her body hard against him.

But counter to his actions, he tore his mouth away from hers. "Jo," he panted. "Are you absolutely, positively sure this is what you want?"

He still didn't believe her, she thought. He still didn't think she was going to go through with it. Probably because of the way she used to treat him.

"I'm absolutely, positively sure," she told him, her voice husky. "I've never been more certain about anything in my life."

"But those other times, you treated me like a creep. You were always the one I couldn't get. What happens if you wake up in the morning and think you've made a mistake?"

There was no way Jo was going to wake up and think she'd made a mistake. Not unless she did something now to make Dean change his mind. "That's not going to happen," she told him.

He still didn't look convinced. So she spread the fingers of one hand between his shoulder blades and framed his jaw with the other.

"I want this, Winchester. I want you, Dean," she told him with utter and complete confidence. "I want us to be together. I want to feel you inside me."

For a long time, he didn't respond, only gazed into her eyes as if he were searching there for the answer to a very important question. Which, she supposed, was exactly what he was doing. So she remained silent, knowing that he would find the truth in her eyes, and that then he would be reassured, once and for all. And after a moment, Dean smiled, the sort of smile that let her know he had indeed found the answer he had been seeking. The fact that he had hesitated sowed Jo, he felt differently about her.

"Then take me, Jo," he told her, pulling her against him. "Take me every way you know how."

But it was Dean who did the taking after that, covering Jo's mouth with his once again. And as he thrust his tongue deep inside her, something hot and frantic splashed through her midsection. She moved her hand from his hair to curl her fingers over his warm nape, and lost herself in his kiss. He responded by pressing his hand more insistently against her back and moving his mouth from hers to brush his lips over her jaw and her cheek and her chin, then nuzzling the sensitive flesh where her throat joined her collarbone before skimming his lips along her shoulder.

"You taste sweet," Dean said as he pulled his head up and gazed down into her eyes, echoing her own earlier thoughts about him. He smiled. "But there's something kind of spicy in there, too."

She chuckled low. "I was just thinking the same thing about you," she said.

He stroked the pads of his fingers over her face, lightly tracing her lower lip and chin, then up along her jaw and cheekbone, then down again, over the sensitive skin of her throat. But his smile fell some as he moved his hand lower still, over the scooped neck of her dress, a caress that made her heart pound against her breastbone in anticipation. Instead of closing his hand over her breast, though, as she had expected he would do, he raised it back up to her face, as if he wanted to drag out the excitement for as long as he could. When he curled his fingers slightly and turned his hand to brush his knuckles tenderly across her cheek, Jo's eyes fluttered closed. A sharp heat sped through her with each gentle stroke, searing her to her very core.

More, she thought feverishly. She wanted—needed—more from him. More of him. His careful caresses somehow only enflamed her, sparking a hunger inside her she knew wouldn't easily be appeased. Touching him wasn't enough. But with Dean, she never would get enough. She had put this off for far too long.

She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the smoky, musky, masculine scent of him. No namby-pamby department store fragrances for Dean, no way. He smelled of pure, unadulterated man, and the woman inside Jo responded in kind. Instinctively, she arched her body against him to better experience his heat, and his desire, and his hunger and him. And still it wasn't close enough for her. She wanted—needed—so much more.

As if he'd read her mind, Dean leaned forward and kissed her, and Jo opened to him enthusiastically. She dipped the fingers of one hand inside the opening of his shirt, skimming her fingertips over the scars she encountered there. As he deepened the kiss, he pressed his body fully against hers, then began to move forward, urging her to move backward, in the direction of her bedroom.

As they completed their slow dance, they went to work on each other's clothes. Dean found the zipper of her dress and tugged it downward, past her waist and over her hips, pulling open the fabric when he finished the journey and splaying his warm hands over her bare flesh. Jo, in turn, freed his shirttail from his trousers and unfastened every button, opening her palms over his scarred chest and torso, raking her fingertips over the ridge of every muscle.

"You look ridiculous in those clothes," She murmured in Dean's ear, referring to the FBI suit and he chuckled.

"I prefer you without you clothes too." He replied and despite her lust she hit him playfully on the shoulder

Jo wasn't sure how long it took them to reach her bedroom, but at some point, her legs connected with the edge of her bed. By that time, her bra was gone and her dress was down around her waist, and Dean's jacket and shirt had been discarded. Between kisses, they managed to pull the covers back, and then down, down, down Jo fell, until she felt the cool kiss of the cotton sheet against her naked back. Dean fell with her, and she looped one arm around his neck and the other across his back while he, in turn, arced one arm over her head and settled his body alongside her own. Then he bent his head and kissed her again, long and hard and deep.

She growled something needy and incoherent in reply, clinging to him, and he responded with a sound that echoed her own hunger, pushing himself half on top of her. Then he insinuated one leg between hers, jerking his thigh roughly into the juncture of her own. The slim cut of her dress prevented her from spreading her legs for him, but the pressure of his thigh against her excited core only enhanced the delicious friction. Heat pooled low in her abdomen, and she bucked her hips against him. Dean responded by dropping a hand to the hem of her dress and jerking the fabric upward, over her hips and around her waist. Then he spread her legs wide and shoved his thigh even harder against her, which made Jo lurch upward so she could rub herself against him again and again and again.

As she pleasured herself that way, she felt him tugging at her dress until he'd pulled the garment over her head to toss it aside. And then she lay beneath him in only her black panties, garter belt, stockings and heels.

Dean pushed himself up from the bed and stood beside it, gazing down at her. His chest rose and fell with his ragged respiration as he studied her, his expression revealing the extent of his passion—his eyes were blazing greener than ever, his cheeks were burnished and his mouth was swollen from her kisses. And seeing him that way made Jo burn for him even more. Because she knew she was the one who had roused him to such a state. And it would be she, and she alone, who brought him satisfaction.

"Jo," he whispered hoarsely, "you are unbelievable."

The compliment made something primitive and satisfying purl through her, and she smiled. She threw one arm over her head and reached out to him with the other. "You're not so bad yourself, Winchester" she murmured. "Now come and show me what a man like you does to an unbelievable woman."

"Son-of-a-bitch," he said quietly, before obliging and returning to her.

As he stretched out alongside her again, he took her bare breast in his hand, covering the tender mound with sure fingers, squeezing it, palming it, fingering it, before raking his thumb over the stiffened nipple. And then his mouth was where his hand had been, wet and greedy and deliberate, soaking her warm flesh as he tried to suck as much of her into his mouth as he could.

Jo gasped, but her breath got stuck in her throat when he moved his other hand between her legs, pressing his three middle fingers over the silk of her panties, wet now with her body's response to him. She opened her legs wider, and Dean spread his fingers wide, too, moving them in slow circles over her sensitive flesh to pleasure her even more. Never had she felt more reckless, more ravenous, more aroused than she did in that moment. Her breathing had become shallow to the point of making her dizzy, and her thoughts were chaotic and indistinct. All she registered were the dual sensations of Dean's mouth consuming her breast and his diligent fingers wreaking havoc between her legs.

More, she thought again. She needed more of him. She needed all of him.

Impulsively, she reached for the waistband of her panties, then lifted her hips from the mattress and shoved the garment down. Once Dean understood what she wanted, he helped her in her efforts, until her panties had joined her dress on the floor. Jo reached for one of her garters, intending to remove that and her stockings, too, but Dean covered her hand with his and halted her efforts. When she glanced up in curiosity, he was smiling his 'Dean' smile.

"Don't," he told her. "Leave them on. I like it."

She arched her eyebrows in surprise.

"You are the last person I would have expected to wear this stuff." Dean grinned wickedly. "Turn over a minute," he told her.

"Why?"

"I want to see what they look like from the back," he said.

Oh, boy…

"Come on, Jo," he cajoled. "Work with me here…I just wanna see."

She felt herself grow warmer and damper just hearing the timbre of his voice as he spoke the request. She sat up on the bed, then turned around and rose up on her knees to give him a full view of her from behind.

He must have liked what he saw, because she heard a sound, low and feral, from behind her. When she turned to look over her shoulder, she saw that he was staring at her ass. Feeling playful—or something—Jo bent forward until her hands were flat against the mattress. She was about to say something—something flip and flirtatious that would make them both laugh—but before she could get the words out, Dean had a hand on each buttock, and he was bending forward, too, pressing his mouth to one sensitive cheek.

The sensation was quite exquisite.

So exquisite, in fact, that Jo pretty much forgot what she had intended to say. Especially when Dean dipped a hand between her legs again and slipped one long finger into her slick, heated channel.

"Oh," she cried out at the deep penetration. "Oh fuck, Dean., that's so fucking—"

Her words halted there, however, because he brought another finger into the action, and nipped her thigh lightly with his teeth as he drove into her. He kept tasting her as he continued to penetrate her, his fingers moving slowly at first, then quickening, until she was right at the edge of an orgasm. But he seemed to sense her nearness and pulled back again, just when she would have lost herself to the ecstasy.

The fucking animal.

When she turned around to call him that, she saw him smiling, and realized he had left her that way on purpose because he wasn't finished with her yet. Pouting in frustration, she lay on her back once more. But as Dean gazed down at her, she saw the fire burning in his eyes and realized he was even further gone than she was.

"Don't worry," he told her. "We're not even close to being finished. Right now, I just want to look at you. All of you. And then I want to touch you. All of you. And then I want to taste you, and smell you, and listen to every little sound you make while I do all the things to you that I want to do to you."

"Oh, Dean…I hate you so much…why did I wait…?" She was close to climaxing, just listening to his roughly uttered promises. Somehow, though, she found the strength to ask him, "And what are all the things you want to do to me?"

Dean became a completely different person in the bedroom…he was till mischievous and humorous, but he took on an animalistic ferocity. Slowly, he lay down beside her again. He curled his fingers over one bare shoulder, then skimmed his hand downward, over one breast. "I want to suck you here," he said, circling his thumb over her nipple. Then he moved his hand lower, over her flat belly. "And I want to suck you here." He moved his hand lower still, into her tawny curls. "And I want to finger you here." He brushed a fingertip lower still, over her tender clitoris, but only long enough to rouse a hiss of wanting from her. "And I want to lick you here." A shudder of heat racked her as he completed his to-do list, and she wished he would hurry up and get to it.

"And then," he said softly, "I want to bury my cock inside you, and I want to watch you come apart at the seams."

Oh, fuck…

He rolled over on top of her, settling himself between her legs, and she groaned in frustration that he was still dressed—or at least halfway. She flattened her palms against his hard chest, loving his strength and the density of each elegant muscle she encountered. Her fingertips skimmed over ridges and sinew, tripped along ribs, dipped into the hollow at the base of his throat. Dean closed his eyes as she explored him, as if he wanted to relish each brush of her fingers. When he opened his eyes again, they seemed darker than before somehow, and a thrill of anticipation shot through her when she realized what that meant.

Dean scooped his hands beneath her hips and pulled her toward him, rubbing his body urgently against hers, and she felt how full he was, how heavy, how hard. Before she realized his intention, he'd circled her wrist with strong fingers and pushed it between their bodies, flattening her palm over his stiff erection. Eagerly, Jo curled her fingers over him and stroked him through his trousers, loving the frantic sound that erupted from somewhere deep inside him.

And she smiled, thinking it was nice to know he wasn't the only one who could wreak sexual havoc.

"Oh my god, Jo," he gasped against her neck as he buried his face there. "Do it again."

Jo threw her head back to grant him better access, then rubbed her hand against him again. And then she did it again. And again. And again.

"Don't stop," he commanded and she felt her little feminie defiance flare up. She slowed her hand, he gasped and tried desperately to gain friction.

"Sorry? Did you say to 'stop'…?" She asked innocently and dean gritted his teeth, "Maybe there was a magic word you forgot, Winchester."

Dean crumbled and begged her unashamedly, "Please, Jo! Please, don't stop."

She continued—and none too gently this time—over him.

"Again," he whispered coarsely.

Once more she palmed and possessed him.

"Again, Jo, again."

She fumbled with his belt and fly and then tucked her hand inside his pants to take his hot, naked shaft in her hand. She palmed the damp head, her actions made easier by the dampness of his early response, then curled her fingers completely around his arrogant staff. Leisurely, methodically, she pumped her hand up and down.

He went still as she slid her fingers along his cock, bracing himself on his elbows, which he'd anchored on each side of her head. He threw his own head back as she increased her pace, his eyes shut tight, his lips parting slightly as he struggled to take one ragged breath after another. So overwhelmed was she by his barely restrained passion that Jo lifted herself up from the mattress to press a frantic kiss against his throat. And then suddenly, without warning, Dean reached between their bodies to clamp his hand over her wrist to halt her.

"That was way too close," he growled before she could even ask him why he'd done it. "And you haven't had your turn yet."

That's what he thought.

"Please, lie still, Jo," he requested, but it sounded more like an orde. She obliged…only too happy to obey a comment that lend to her own pleasure.

Well, no need to be hasty, she thought as he moved away from her.

"If you can…" he further challenged with a knowing smile as he knelt on the floor beside the bed…and between her legs.

Well, gee, that sounded promising….

Again, happy to accommodate his request, she lay back on the bed, arcing her arms over her head in silent challenge. Dean grinned as he dipped his head between her legs, curving his hands over the insides of her thighs to push her legs apart. He skimmed his hands expertly down to the undersides of her knees, folding them until her legs were bent and her feet were planted firmly on the edge of the bed. Then he pushed his hands under her bare bottom and lifted her up, moving her to his waiting mouth.

Jo gasped at the first flick of his tongue against her, a keen shot of heat firing through her at the contact. With soft, butterfly strokes, he enflamed her, flicking the tip of his tongue over her sensitive flesh, tasting, teasing, tempting, drawing slow circles around her clitoris before lapping the flat of his tongue gently over it. Gradually, though, his hunger mounted, and the wispy touches became eager, insatiable tastes of her. And then the eager tastes grew bolder, and he slipped a long finger inside her as he ate. Writhing and groaning, on the brink of orgasm, Jo tangled the fingers of both hands tightly in his hair, begging him by turns to end his voracious onslaught and to promise that it would never, ever stop.

And it didn't stop for a very long time.

Eventually, though, he did satisfy himself—leaving Jo feeling decidedly less so—because he pulled his head back and climbed up alongside her in bed again. By then she was only half-coherent, on the brink of her third orgasm. He smiled at her with what she could only liken to smugness, then shifted his body over hers once more. And then he kissed her, long and slow and deep, and she savoured the taste of herself on his tongue and the play of his hands as they explored every inch of her body.

As he kissed her, Dean curved his fingers over one breast, rolling his thumb insistently over the sensitive nipple before catching it in the V of his index and middle fingers. Then his mouth was where his hand had been, his tongue lavishing her, loving her, circling her nipple before tracing first the underside of her breast and then the top. He rolled her nipple between his fingers, flicking the tip of his tongue against it, again and again and again. Then he moved his hand and sucked her breast deep into his mouth, the hot, wet pressure sparking heat through her entire body.

And as he sucked her, Jo went back to work on his trousers, pushing the garment down to bare his taut buttocks, and gripping them with both hands. He finally got the message and moved away from her long enough to shed them and his boxers and socks, then returned to her, nestling his pelvis against hers and bracing himself on arms he folded onto the mattress on each side of her head. She felt him start to push inside her, and she bent her knees again, bracing them on the bed once more to facilitate his entry, because he was more man than she was accustomed to.

But she was so ready for him after everything they'd already done that he slipped inside fairly easily. Dean filled her to the brink, though, in a way she'd never felt full before, and Jo squeezed her eyes shut tight at the sense of completion that flooded her. Having Dean inside her made her feel whole in a way she hadn't felt before. His body fit hers so perfectly, as if the two of them had been one all along, two pieces of a whole that had somehow been split apart. Now they were back together again. And she found herself wishing they'd never be apart again.

And then they were moving as one, Dean withdrawing from her and ramming forward again, Jo launching her body up to greet him every time. With every penetration they joined more completely, until one final, hurtling thrust incited their completion.

Jo cried out at the intensity of her orgasm, her entire body shuddering as Dean spilled himself hotly inside her. His exclamation was equally savage, and his body went rigid against hers for the long moment it took him to empty himself. With a ragged groan, he collapsed beside her and gathered her close, burying his face in the tender curve where her shoulder met her neck. She felt his warm breath dampen her flesh, registered the wild beating of his heart against her own.

Un-regrettable, beautiful and too long awaited, their coupling was…well…Heaven.


End file.
